


Swimming With Sharks

by koohai



Category: Cherik - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Cherik - Freeform, Grumpy!Charles|Sweetheart!Erik, M/M, aquarium, cherik au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:16:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koohai/pseuds/koohai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cherik AU.<br/>So, this is set in an aquarium with a very creative name and more sharks than you can shake a stick at!<br/>Charles wants to go to university and escape the seaside town he grew up in. He landed an internship working at an old and slightly out of date Quicksilver (it's a kind of boat, apparently) Aquarium with a lot of other students, however his role is not quite what he had hoped it would be. He has a complex about embroidery and is regularly shown up in front of one of the handsomest boys he didn't have the privilege of going to school with. Will anything come from it? Or will he be the spinster who spends the rest of his summer talking to the elusive Quicksilver resident George the great white?</p><p>I've had this idea for a while now, I really hope you guys enjoy how I've tried to bring it to the page and that it's as fun to read as it is to write. This ship is something I like to call Grumpy!CharlesXSweetheart!Erik, I really like fic where the dynamic changes so I decided to write my own. Please don't be afraid to tell me what you thought!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Days of Future Past: Acceptance.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is a /flashback/  
> ooh, spooky.

It had been a while since Sharon Xavier had been this nervous. It had been a while since she’d been this sober too. But she needed this to work as much as Charles needed the work for his application, and she wanted to be wholly present to witness the fruits of her labour. _It wasn’t like you got to Oxford through sheer academic merit these days_ – though that was a large part of the appeal from a candidate – _no, you had to put yourself out there and show an interest in engaging with your subject of choice in a more physical, real way. That showed passion, dedication, all the things a student needed to pretend to have in order to get a place_. And she knew this better than anyone, recalling the animated discussions she and her late husband had once had about Charles’ future, hoping that he’d follow in their footprints. That was probably why she was so determined that he got this internship, because she knew what an important part of his statement it was and how much this position could influence his future. Nobody could call her a bad mother for wanting her son to get the best out of life - perhaps she shouldn’t’ve gone to the lengths that she had to secure this place, but there was the possibility that Charles wouldn’t have gotten in on his own and she couldn’t have that. Or at least, that was what she said to herself as she poured tea for herself and her son into cups with a shaking hand. It was done now, and she wouldn’t have to sleep with Kurt again. Not immediately anyway.

She frowned a little, wondering what she would tell Charles if he ever found out that she’d essentially seduced him a place at Quicksilver, standing up a little straighter when the boy himself walked into the room, still pyjama-clad and tired. He rubbed his eyes before sitting down at the table, looking over at his mother and then down at the white A4 sized envelope that had been carefully positioned so the address was facing him, just to the left of his placemat. His eyes grew suddenly clear when he realised what it was, his lips pressing together in a tight line of concern. Sharon’s own expression softened and she took a step towards her son, placing a cup on the table for him,

“Go on…” She encouraged gently, inclining her head and offering him a small smile, “Don’t keep me waiting, Charles, dear.”

Charles nodded, his eyes wide with anticipation, completely ignoring her uncharacteristic use of the word ‘dear’. He looked so much younger than nineteen like this, and she couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty at the amount of time she’d spent with her son prior to him starting higher education. Is this how he looked a few years back? Has she just lost her ability to determine age when it came to young people? These days she hardly knew a teen from a twenty-something… though she was sure that didn’t come through neglectful parenting.

Charles slowly started the task of carefully peeling the envelope open, changing his tactic halfway through+ to simply ripping it along the top when he noticed the pained look on his mother’s face as she watched him. She seemed just as desperate as he was to know whether he had gotten in. Charles hadn’t been particularly bothered at first, just seeing it as a way to fill in time between the winter break and the next set of mock exams he was to take, but now it was part of the thing that he wanted most. To escape his boring life on the coast and start again in Oxford. Exciting, cosmopolitan, accepting Oxford. Accepting. He loved that idea. It wasn’t that Charles was ashamed of being gay – he’d known he was gay since he was about seven, and had made peace with it in his early teenage years after a few terrible girlfriends and secret dates – but his family and close friends didn’t seem accepting of it at all. He wasn’t close enough with anyone in his family to tell them, and when he’d experimentally told them about a gay ‘friend’ that he had, their derogatory comments were enough to tell him that to come out was to leave (the family). So that was what he was going to do. His mother had always wanted him to get married and have children too. _Mores the pity for her_ , he thought as the extracted the letter from its paper casing, _then again she had also wanted a daughter…_

Sharon watched her son scan the page, his expression barely changing as he read, save for a furrow of his brow at the end. She clasped her hands together and leaned closer to him, swallowing hard and preparing to commiserate her son before making an angry phone call to her husband’s best friend,

“Charles, I-“ She started, before she was interrupted.

“….I got it.” Charles said quietly, a look of pure elation slowly coming over his face, as if hearing it said aloud cemented it for him, “- I’m in. I start on Tuesday.”

“Tuesday?” Sharon echoed, her expression frozen in time, the news taking a moment to sink in.

“A little bit, yeah. On Tuesday.” Charles nodded, “They want to hold a training session. It…it, uh, starts properly next week.” He looked up at her, his cheeks flushing pink as the adrenaline faded.

“Well then…” His mother said, a small smile forming, “I better get you the uniform. I can’t have my son showing up for training looking like anything but the best.”

“I could go and collect it, if you want?” Charles offered, tilting his head as he looked at her, taken aback by her quick and fairly generous offer.

“No, no…don’t trouble yourself darling. I’ll call Kurt.” Sharon smiled at him, turning away from him before she had the chance to watch her son’s expression change from joy to confusion at the mention of his name.


	2. Days of Future Past: He's only bloody gotten in!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we're still in the flashback. hold on to ya socks ;)

Kurt had been the one to meet Charles on Tuesday morning, much to his surprise. He couldn’t imagine why one of the higher ups would want to talk to him about working there. Much less his father’s old colleague. He’d never liked Kurt, although he was supposedly a family friend, and had frequented the house since childhood with his son, Cain. But every time Charles saw the man he couldn’t help but remember the bruises he’d seen on Cain’s back the time that his mother accidentally splashed red wine on his shirt when gesturing too eagerly, and he’d had to borrow one of his. He had tried to ask Cain about them when the adults had chased them out of the living room so they could talk together later that evening, but the boy wouldn’t speak about it and grew increasingly defensive and hostile towards him. He understood now why Cain hadn’t wanted to talk about it, due to fear, but it hurt him at the time to be cut off from one of the only friends Charles was allowed to see outside of school – and god knows he didn’t have many friends in school, either. Being as sensitive as he was during his childhood didn’t get you friends in school, it made you a target. Though Charles couldn’t remain lost in his musings on the past for long, before they were disrupted by Kurt’s, frankly very curt, tones,

“If it isn’t Sharon’s kid...” He smirked, holding out his hand to Charles as if he hadn’t known him for most of his young life, “Good to have you on board.”

Charles tried not to look to offended by everything the other man had just said, taking his hand and shaking it limply, trying to avoid pressing his palm to Kurt’s. Sure it was immature, but he didn’t care about that, he just wanted to minimise contact with a person he disliked. Kurt frowned at that, laughing at him,

“Weak handshake though. Can’t say we need more of those on our team.”

Charles fought the desire to roll his eyes. Kurt coughed and adjusted his tie,

“- right, anyway, let’s get you started on your training. I’m sure you’ve very excited to work at our prestigious research facility cum visitor attraction.” He said dryly, more like a statement than anything else, as if he knew he was doing Charles a favour.

“Of course.” Charles nodded, looking up at him and forcing a smile, launching into the speech his mother had prepared him with about being eternally thankful to have been chosen, before Kurt’s hand was on his shoulder, squeezing sharply and silencing him. Charles winced and instantly thought of Cain.

“Save it for when you see what you’re doing, kid.” He said gruffly, keeping his hand on his shoulder and frog marching Charles towards his highly coveted internship.


	3. Days of Future Past: Mop for me, boy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last flashback before the big day!

_What the fuck is this_ , was the first thought that entered Charles’ head as he stared at the empty room save for a mop and bucket. There were no other trainees, no other members of staff – hell, there weren’t even that many tanks in this room. It looked abandoned. Kurt leaned in the doorway, not even bothering to follow him into the room, looking bored.

“Walk over to that bucket there, champ, okay?” He instructed, waving his hand at him, and keeping his face as straight as was respectful.

Charles did as he was told, picking up the mop and making a couple of swipes at the floor as Kurt continued to guide him from the door. He stopped after making Charles draw circles with the mop, then pointing to a cloth and bottle of cleaning fluid left on a shelf,

“You see that?” He asked, as if Charles was a moron.

“Yes.” He nodded, giving him an incredulous look, not caring if he offended him at this point.

“Do the same thing you did with the mop on the floor, except this time with the glass, okay?” He said, adding, “If you feel bold, there’s a dustpan and brush in the cupboard at the back. Think of this as your…. interview. Don’t hold back on impressing me. You have an hour.”

Charles stared at him blankly. _Was this some kind of joke?_

“Great. Off you go.” Kurt shot two finger guns at him, in the way only an obnoxious dickhead who was secretly sleeping with your mother could, and gave him a smug smile, “See you in a bit. Can’t wait to see what you do with the place.”


	4. Mop, mop, mop the floor.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's Charles Xavier: Intern, Student, General Dogsbody.  
> This is his story.

“Well, this is just ridiculous.”

Charles never imagined that he'd be working somewhere where he was actually in charge of the welfare of other creatures. But here he was: Quicksilver Aquarium – and he was even wearing the stupid little felted jacket in the most appalling forest green, and sporting a rather fetching mop and bucket combination. Interning at an aquarium was supposed to be prestigious, and exciting - or at least that's what the reaction of his mother had seemed to suggest (which was something he liked to grumble about often under his breath as he was made to polish glass and sweep floors). However, ever since that fateful mop was thrust at him, he'd had a funny feeling he wasn't going to be swimming with sharks just yet.

And it seemed as though today that someone had wanted to make that as plain as possible. A group of students entered the room that Charles had just spent a good hour staring at while clutching a mop moodily and telling himself that he’d start in a minute. He glanced over at them as they filed into the room in their stupid green jackets with smug smiled on their faces - the jacket in itself was the same as Charles’ but with one major difference. Sighing audibly, he turned his back to the group and started to slowly mop the floor, trying to ignore them and their annoying little privileges. Their annoying little names stitched into their annoying little jackets. Sure, his had the logo stitched on, but it wasn't his name. He listened half-heartedly as they chattered amongst themselves about some stupid opportunity they were about to have, generally trying to remain uninterested and aloof, rolling his eyes when he heard somebody mention how ‘marvellous’ their internship was. _You know what’s actually marvellous?_ Charles thought bitterly, _the way none of you have noticed how hard I work to keep your stupid research room clean…_

It seemed to Charles that as far as they were concerned he didn't have an identity, because he didn’t have his bloody name sewn onto his bloody coat. Well, he'd show them. He’s show the kids, the staff, and most importantly the board of trustees, who essentially had run of the place, that didn’t think he ‘had what it took’ to examine fish and ponce about with other rich teens. But right now, he was just going to show those stupid, pompous students. With their names.

“F....U....C...K....M..Y…L…I...” Charles spelled out with the mop as he cleaned, the light from the windows that lined the walls of the room reflecting the in the water he was spreading across the wooden floorboards, making the letters more visible as he cleaned the heavily footprint-marked floor. He was just lifting the mop to start on the 'F' when he heard someone chuckle behind him. Charles was immediately tense. One of them was interacting with him. He turned around slowly, a scowl forming on his face to greet the insufferable twat who was laughing at him.

“What?” He spat, having to lift his head to glare at the _apparently incredibly tall_ insufferable twat who was laughing at him.

“Oh, no. It’s nothing. Continue.” They said, their eyes easily meeting his, raising their hands in defence - having clocked the intensity of the look Charles was giving them. The student was male, and looked to be around his age, maybe older. He watched Charles with a tentative smile, his lips barely parted, as if trying to predict his next move, unsure of what the smaller boy would do. In his defence, Charles did look like a dab hand with a mop, and had the kind of look that suggested he could take him out at any moment.

 _Shit…. he’s handsome_ , was Charles’ first thought. He tried to keep the scowl on his face, as not to give away his genuine surprise that somebody still in their teens could be so attractive - Charles had assumed acne and baby faces were all he was going to see till he hit his twenties. His hair was a dirty blonde and slicked back, and he matched his stupid jacket with carefully pressed trousers showing – to Charles at least - he was trying to make an impression on the people in his group. Charles couldn't help but notice the stitching on his jacket too. It was nice to put a name to a face, he supposed.

“M-move, then.” Charles countered, his voice faltering a little. He overcompensated that fact by swinging his mop around, towards the other boy, aiming to give him a bit of a fright.

The student only laughed softly at him, seemingly in genuine amusement, and nodded before taking a few steps back. He hung around and watched Charles mop the floor in a more efficient manner for a few moments, before going back to the group. Charles wondered why he’d stayed a little longer to watch a frankly unimpressive display of cleaning, but shrugged it off and settled back into wiping away the remaining letters, then moving over to aggressively clean near a smaller group of students looking at a tank of little silver fish.

Lehnsherr, E.

 

\---

 

Eventually, he had to return to cleaning the floor – though he’d rather have done it without the students still there. Charles slowly and laboriously mopped his way across the aquarium floor, and somehow made his was back over to the bulk of the group – which included the boy he'd swiped at before – who were chatting about the future of the Aquarium. He remembered how he’d overheard in one of the first meetings he'd cordially not been invited to, that the ‘hip and young’ interns were – as well as getting a hell of a reference for university - given the task of trying to open the establishment up more to the general public and tourists, instead of it being a place simply for study and research with the odd visitor on a rainy Sunday. He doubted that these charmless hacks would actually manage that, but was definitely interested in hearing their moronic ideas – even if it was just something he could laugh at with Logan later when they went out for drinks. He dragged the mop half-heartedly across the floor in slow circles, trying to take in every word they said:

“But I think that we should really try to make the place more open and bright, more inviting and…” The person speaking struggled for words at this point, amusing Charles “…tourist friendly. Anyway, it shouldn't be reserved for scholars and stuffy old people looking for an excuse to leave the house!” It was a female voice, overly cheerful and definitely American, with a familiar quality that he couldn't quite place. Charles decided he didn't like it, “We need to expand! Scrap everything and start again. I mean, look at these tanks! They must be a hundred years old – at least!” She earned a few forced laughs from people around her, and a grimace from Charles. _Idiot,_ he thought, _they’re eighty years old, at most._

“Well, you do have a point there, but I don't think we should try to exclude all the business we already g-”

“But they'll make double whatever they get now.” The female voice dismissed, adding, “You're not seeing sense now, Erik.”

Charles’ eyes widened. _Erik,_ it couldn’t be… the guy from earlier? Shit, he had actually made a good point. And his voice. It was interesting. He couldn’t place that accent in England, but it wasn’t American either. Not that he cared where he was from. His name seemed Germanic too. Hm.

“Regardless, I still think we should make it a priority to care for the people who have provided us with the most business-”

Well, damn. He seemed pretty eloquent for one of the ponces in jackets. To be fair, in his illustrious career of cleaning floors Charles had only had a few run-ins with the students there, but for the most part they seemed to be stuck-up and unable to converse with anyone who wasn't of a similar status, even though they were all thick as bricks. He presumed there were a lot of parents going bankrupt trying to keep up this level of education for their darlings – or trying to keep them in the programme in any case.

“Erik! Just stop now…” She cut in quickly, “You're being far too sentimental...” The girl whined, crying out in surprise when Charles very much ‘accidentally’ mopped into her. He really hadn't meant it you know – but when the mop slips...

He turned to look at her – not to marvel in his victory at all, but to check what she was okay - and was hit with a familiar glare that make his stomach turn. _Raven_. Charles hadn't seen her in years. They'd gone to school together as children, and she'd teased him for being one of the 'softer' types of boy – preferring to read than to rough-house, and study over shouting. His stomach clenched with nerves, the feelings from years ago rushing back to him at an alarming pace.

Raven’s eyes narrowed when she saw his face, her expression softening for a split second when she recognised him, before settling into a grimace “You.” She hissed.

“I...I...uh....” Charles was babbling at his point, embarrassed for two reasons: one, she still recognised him so clearly he hadn't changed in any significant way since he was seven and two, the boy from before had noticed and was now staring at him.

Raven turned up her nose at him, her eyes landing on the stitching that decorated his jacket. She scoffed, “Don't you have some... cleaning to do?” This earned a few chuckles from the people around her. Charles looked down, praying the blush he felt burning his cheeks wasn’t too noticeable, desperately wanting to be swallowed up by the floor he’d just cleaned.

“Uh....” He took a step back from her, scrabbling for something he could actually say to her. It had been so long. There was nothing he could call her out on besides the fact that she was clearly here on financial merit, and he doubted that would go down well with the people around him, “…yes.” Charles finally managed, glancing up to lock eyes with her one last time, visibly relieved to have said something besides 'uh'.

Raven and a tall, bespectacled boy laughed, “Well, uh, could you, uh, get on with it…?” She mocked, lowering her voice to try and match his own, smirking down at him. She paused then and made a point of glancing down at his chest, as if she knew that he has a whole complex about the names being stitched on the jackets of people who supposedly matter more than others.

“Uh...” Charles started to speak, his mouth opening before he’d really formed a response, cringing as he nodded and bowed his head “....right.”

He took the mop with both hands and hunched his shoulders, moving to the opposite end of the room with impressive speed. Charles kept his eyes solely on the floor, having no intentions to look back to gauge their reaction, wanting to just melt into the backdrop of darkened tanks as quickly as possible.

 

\---

 

Sometimes the windows that made up a good 60% of the aquarium were a blessing. The light from the already dull afternoon was fading now, and Charles was almost done with his shift. It had been about fifteen minutes since the last of the jackets had gone, and he'd just been walking around looking into the tanks and humming quietly to himself - in the way that someone who had lived alone for a while might do. It was almost completely dark in the research room, and it felt incredibly cosy and welcoming. It was hard to focus when you were surrounded by life in glass tanks illuminated brightly from their inner lighting. Charles sniffed softly to himself and turned the corner walking over to the biggest tank in the room - which ran along the back wall, and spanned numerous rooms so that the inhabitants had adequate room to move – where the aquarium's only great white shark lived. He was just turning thirty and Charles had already picked him out as his favourite.

“Alright, George?” He asked, peering into the tank, unable to make anything out besides the rocks and plants. He was probably hiding somewhere – George was a very quiet shark, Charles noticed, but he liked that about him. He was unobtrusive, and always down to listen to Charles’ many problems, “Not talking today? Well, that's fine. I don't mind. I'll tell you about my day.” He allowed himself a small smile, pressing his hand against the glass in a friendly gesture towards the ageing great white.

“So, mostly…I cleaned.” He started, scoffing slightly and rolling his eyes, “As always-“ He paused, chuckling, “I know you know that. But, there was a group of those awful airhead students in again. I bet you saw them didn't you....you don't like them, do you?” He paused, nodding at the darkened tank, “- I thought not. I don't either. Especially not that Raven. You heard what she said to me.” He looked down, adding, “Though, in her defence I sounded like I needed I swift punch to the face just to get an answer out of me.” Charles shook his head and laughed quietly, “You know she nearly called me out on that actu-....I....uh.” He paused, his smile twisting slightly as he remembered her face when she saw he didn’t have an embroidered name on his coat, “....she didn't remember my name.”

He pulled back from the tank, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, “She didn't remember my goddamn name! Shit, fuck! Fucking…fucking….” He made an inhuman noise of complaint and stamped his foot, unable to articulate his actual feelings. It felt futile. His hand curled into a fist against the glass and he stilled, “....jackets. Bloody jackets. God.” Was this really what it had come to? - she needed him to have one of those jackets before she remembered his name?

From across the tank, someone chuckled.

“What?”


End file.
